by Hap Rocketto
It is always a great pleasure to see one of your juniors develop and do well. Such is the case with young Jimmy Scheller, now an officer of Marines. Jim first began shooting with us in 1974 when he was about ten years old. As the son of Dick Scheller, a crackerjack Distinguished Rifleman and winner of the President’s Match, he had the genes, competitive atmosphere, and shooting equipment to excel.
Soon after he turned 18 he joined the Connecticut National Guard, earned Air Crewman Wings and then transferred to the Marine Corps. After ten years he was a staff sergeant and, close to 30 years old, he entered Officer Candidate School emerging a few months later as the oldest second lieutenant in The Corps. While enlisted he managed a couple of years shooting on “The Big Team” both with the service and smallbore rifles.
One day in late August of 1988 Corporal Scheller lay upon his mat on Viale Range, shouldered his M-14, and pounded 20 rounds down range at 1,000 yards for a score of 193-3X. It was a tall enough tally to get him into the finals where he shot a 95 to win the service rifle division of the match.
I was all excited for him and his father and later on, when we escaped all of the backslapping, I couldn’t wait to tell him what a great thing he had done. Jim is a fine shooter, but is not, I thought, a student of the sport’s history so I regaled him with the facts surrounding his victory and its trophy.
“Jim,” said I “The tradition of long range shooting is well served by you. Do you know that in 1921, George “Dad” Farr drew an issue ’03 the day before the match and did not have time to sight it in. He just fixed his O’Hare micrometer on the sight and adjusted it for the book elevation. Earlier he had disassembled a pair of binoculars and was using one half of it as a spotting scope. His first sighting shot was a two at 12 o’clock. Out came the micrometer and down came the sight.
The 62-year-old Washingtonian went on to put the next 21 shots in the black. Thinking he was done he got up and was leaving the line when told that he had the right to continue to fire. He drew some more ammunition and then adjusted his wiry six-foot frame on the firing point. The target went up and down with monotonous regularity as five after five was spotted and marked.
Farr used more ammunition and soon there was none left on the line. With precious few minutes of day light left there was a mad scramble to find more of the famous 1921 “tin can” match ammunition. By the time he let loose his 70th shot the target frame was a dark smudge against a darkening skyline. His 71st shot was out and Farr left the line in second place, just five bulls behind the match winner Marine Sergeant John W. Adkins.
His accomplishment was so impressive that the Army Ordnance Department presented him the rifle he used and a case of ammunition. His admirers passed the hat and donated an ornate silver loving cup, the Farr Trophy, to commemorate the event.
How great it must have been to grab a rack rifle and beat all but one in a match when almost everyone was using a scope.”
Jim rejoined “Hap, I don’t know how to break this to you but I didn’t win the Farr Trophy.”
“The heck you didn’t!” I retorted, “You were high service rifle!”
“Yup, that’s true but you get the Farr for being the top service gun in the Wimbledon, and we just shot the Leech Cup. Everyone shoots irons in the Leech. The high service rifle gets the Porter Trophy.” Hoist by my own petard, I gulped with embarrassment.
“You were so excited I just couldn’t bear to stop you. Hey,” he went on, “It was a great story.” Then he mischievously added, “Can you tell me anything about the Porter Trophy?”
The Leech Cup
